


Blessed Crown

by Decorera



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Astolat fanclub, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 02:29:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14661465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decorera/pseuds/Decorera
Summary: A sentimental little piece written as a sequel to “Blooded Crown” By Astolat.  You should absolutely go read that first.  It is amazing.  Thank you, Astolat.





	Blessed Crown

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Blooded Crown](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9238637) by [astolat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/pseuds/astolat). 



Based on the works of Andrzej Sapkowski  
Based on “Blooded Crown” by Astolat

\-------------------

No one was to know what happened that night in House Voorhis. The majordomo came down hard on the servant girls as to what would happen if they told a single soul. It was to be a complete secret.

Naturally then, in five minutes the whole house knew. In an hour’s time, the whole district knew. By the first crowing of the cock, the entire city had heard the story. Conspiracy to murder the pregnant Heir to the Imperial Throne! Nine high lords and ladies of ancient Nilfgaardian blood killed by their own hands in honorable defeat! The Emperor firmly on his throne, supported not only by his heir but by the heir of House Voorhis! 

And Sir Geralt of Rivia defeating sixteen dastardly foes to protect the royal family! The last grew more and more exaggerated as the tale was told but at first, sixteen was almost too many to be believed. However there was no hiding the bodies or the later funerals, and the three girls who had witnessed it all swore up and down that he had done it alone.

By working hours the next day, Geralt of Rivia was the talking point of a thousand tongues. It was only right, the merchants nodded, for the Emperor to have placed his trust in such a man. It was so romantic, the sentimental simpered, Sir Geralt protecting his lover and their child. Cheers to the White Wolf and to Nilfgaard, cried the working men, as they lifted their well-earned tankards of beer at day’s end. Killing traitor scum! Long Live the Emperor!

Then the bards started in.

Master Dandelion’s adventure ballads had never gained much traction in Nilfgaard. Despite catchy melodies and cunning rhymes, they were considered to be too fanciful; full as they were of monsters, spells, and curses. However Master Dandelion had written hundreds of songs about the exploits of Geralt of Rivia, and bards were too clever to let such an opportunity pass by. Geralt of Rivia was a popular man, the crowds liked songs about popular men, and happy crowds mean bards going home to their families with pockets full of coin.

Emhyr hummed thoughtfully as he read about the situation in one of his predawn reports. “Could be useful,” he murmured. “Wha?” Geralt croaked groggily from his side of the bed. “Nothing to be concerned of,” Emhyr replied and stroked a possessive hand down Geralt’s back. He admired for a moment the faint marks last night’s silk ropes had left on the witcher’s pale skin before asking if Geralt would care to take a contract.

“Well sure,” Geralt muttered into his pillow, “the kids seem to be getting along well enough. Should be fine without me to translate for you, for at least a few weeks.” Emhyr calmly put down his stack of reports, rolled on top of his insolent witcher, and ploughed deeply into the man’s still wet passage. Geralt groaned with begrudging pleasure and Emhyr smiled.

The Emperor sent off his warrior lover with entirely unnecessary formality, according to Geralt, but within minutes the whole palace knew that Geralt was off to slay the Giant of Lake Muredach in Nazair for the glory of the Empire. After that, it only took a few careful words in a few ears paired with incautious tongues. By the time, he returned with his trophy carefully preserved and loaded on a donkey, Sir Geralt of Rivia was practically a national hero. Men recognized him in the street. Woman handed him flowers. Children dared each other to touch his boot as he rode by.

The nobility was less sanguine about him. They had not had to rely on rumor to find out what had happened at House Voorhis. There had been a respectful inquest at which Morvran Voorhis and Cirilla var Emreis had testified. The proof of the witcher’s battle prowess had shocked the whole assembly. One lord in particular had not been able to believe it until Cirilla in frustration had remarked that it was not even close to the deadliest battle Geralt had engaged in. After such a statement, the nobles went home and did their research. 

Messengers rode north and returned with first-hand accounts from Blaviken, Vizima, Novigrad, and Skellege. The nobles, who as much as a month earlier would not have believed a word of it, now took such first-hand accounts as the gods’ own truth. If witchers were real, then surely too had to be the monsters which they fought. The nobles’ recalled how they had mocked and smirked at the Emperor’s pet. 

They hoped it had been too subtle for him to notice but it had certainly not been subtle enough for the Emperor not to have noticed. They knew exactly how they would have responded to such ridicule from a position of such power as the witcher now held. Already the witcher had asked Emhyr to take in the Duchene children. If the witcher could bend Emhyr’s heart of stone to do that, then who knew what could happen! They held their breath and lowered their eyes as he passed; hoping to be spared his wrath.

“What the hell have you done?!” Geralt exclaimed in frustration as he stormed into Emhyr’s personal office. Emhyr waved away one of his secretaries and, as the man closed the door behind him, mentioned idly, “I imagine I have done any number of things you are not aware of since you went away. Would you care to be more specific?” He noticed with satisfaction that although Geralt growled back a rather crude expletive, his man was also unlacing his trousers at the same time.

Some half hour later as Emhyr was suckling a deep purple mark onto the nape of Geralt’s neck, well above any concealing collar, Geralt lifted his nose from the surface of the Emperor’s desk and gritted out, “The nobles are all looking at me like I’m going to do them in. They are saying that I made you take in the Duchene and Fliran children. Like I could make you do anything.”

Emhyr muttered into the back of Geralt’s neck, “I quite like that one. I come off as very hard hearted except to you, which can only be good for me.”

Geralt hissed in displeasure, “And the people of the city, the people, I’m,” he faltered, seemingly at lost for words so Emhyr took it upon himself to finish his sentence.

“You are popular.”

Geralt shook off Emhyr’s teeth as he turned his head to stare up at the emperor in horror. Emhyr snorted, “You have no need to look so terrified,” Predictably that comment replaced the horror with a mulish expression, “It will not last too long, I should imagine. However with care it may last long enough to make a few necessary changes for the good of our family.”

Emhyr’s uncharacteristically sentimental way of speaking of Cirilla, Morvran, and the children had another predictable effect on the witcher. Geralt gathered Emhyr into his arms and tugged the emperor over to a chaise where he pulled Emhyr down against his chest. Emhyr would never admit it but when he sat like this, bracketed by Geralt’s knees and wrapped in his muscular arms, he felt more safe than he had felt in years. Geralt nudged his nose behind Emhyr’s ear and took a long breath of Emhyr’s scent. “Go on,” he encouraged.

Emhyr relaxed back into his hold. “I want to make you a Guardian of the Emreis bloodline.” Emhyr could feel Geralt’s brow furrow against his scalp. “It simply makes official what already is. Cirilla is yours by the Law of Surprise. You have sworn to protect Iniara and Iren.”

“And Brion,” Geralt commented wickedly. Emhyr did not dignify him with a response.

“As a Guardian of the bloodline, if something should happen to me,” Geralt’s hold tightened almost to a point of discomfort. “You would have legal rights to care for any of the children as yet under age and you would have a place at Cirilla and Morvran’s side that none could dispute. You would not exactly be a member of House Emreis, but you would be considered as close as. Also,” Emhyr hesitated, “When the child is born, you would have rights to him as well.”

They had yet to discuss how long Geralt would be willing to remain at court. It would be a few short years until Iniara was old enough to be married. After that, she could care for her younger brother. In short, Geralt’s oath would be as fulfilled as any rule monger could wish. There would be relatively little to hold Geralt here. He might wish to return to the Path; visiting regularly for the sake of Cirilla, of course. To take this official role however, would be to bind him completely to court and to Emhyr.

Emhyr’s hair fluttered as Geralt heaved a deep sigh. Emhyr pursed his lips, annoyed he could not see the witcher’s face enough to read his expression. “Is it political?” Geralt asked gruffly. Emhyr snorted, “If you are asking me to clarify if it is an office of political appointment, then no. If you are asking if you would have legal rights to exercise over the royal family, then yes. If you are asking whether you would be treated as a political figure, then you should know that your words already have great weight and influence.”

Geralt nosed a little deeper into Emhyr’s hair. Emhyr pulled away sharply, “Must you huff and sniff at me like a dog!” He turned to face Geralt in time to see Geralt’s expression fade from hurt into stony disinterest. Emhyr clenched his jaw. Geralt looked aside and then back, his face restored to its usual sardonic humor, “That elven blood is showing, Emreis, answering questions with both yes and no.”

Emhyr opened his mouth to retort but Geralt cut him off. “Sure, sign me up.” Emhyr paused with a peculiar look on his face, as if Geralt had suddenly barked instead of spoken like a man. “Like I was going to say no.” Emhyr closed his mouth and eyed him with a particularly searching look. “Very well,” he finally said. “Yeah,” Geralt answered. They looked at each other for a moment longer before Geralt stood and began pulling on his clothes. “Gonna go see Ciri,” he announced as he fled the room.

It took Ciri a grand total of five minutes to convince Geralt to tell her the whole story of the conversation. Then she nearly fell off the low chaise where she rested in her amusement. “You two are hopeless,” she remarked as she rubbed a gentle hand along her swelling belly. “Go back and tell him that you love him.”

Geralt scoffed at her, “What? He knows that.” 

Ciri narrowed her eyes at him, “Really? Because what it sounds like from here, is that he basically proposed to you which you oh so so cunningly answered with a joke, a flippant remark, and then ran away.” She raised one unimpressed eyebrow before continuing, “If that were me, I’d be wondering why you were still hanging around at all. Maybe if all those rumors you two made up were really true, that the witcher is just here for a meal ticket.”

Geralt began to pace, “He did not propose!”

“Obviously,” Ciri snapped back, “There is no way Nilfgaard would stand for a homeless bastard commoner from the Northern Kingdoms getting hitched to the Imperial line, no matter how popular. They barely accepted me, remember, and I am royal on both sides. However what he can offer you is this: the legal right to raise his children with him and to share in caring for his grandchildren and great grandchildren, if you live long enough.” She folded her arms, precisely as Yennifer always had when making her point. “Sounds as close to the definition of marriage as you can get without vows, I would think.”

It was a good point. A very good point. “But,” Geralt said carefully, as if worried she might skewer him with logic again. “Why wasn’t he happier I said yes, then. Sure, I wasn’t as tactful as I could have been, but I did say yes.”

Ciri took some time to think about it and her maid crept in from the next room with a tray of tea and light biscuits to tempt Ciri’s nauseous stomach. Geralt drank his tea unsweetened as she nibbled thoughtfully on a biscuit. “I think, and this is just supposition, that Emhyr has a hard time believing that anyone would stay with him without reason. So if you are staying, he has to know why.”

Geralt scowled and looked away. “He knows why,” he growled lowly.

“Does he?”

“He loves me and I love him, and he knows it, damn it.”

“Have you ever said it?”

“Said it?” Geralt snarled, “I was right there holding him in my arms and scenting him until he got tired of my expressions of love and shoved me away. If anyone has a reason to think that one of us has lost affection for the other, it’s me! How much more blatant do I have to be?”

Ciri laughed but not unkindly, “Geralt, you know better. Humans use words. Emhyr is not an elf to catch your thoughts of love, nor is he a witcher who would understand the language of scent. Have you straight up told him without making a joke of it?” Geralt’s silence was confirmation enough. “Furthermore,” Ciri continued, “You have to know that he manipulated you into the relationship. He hasn’t stopped manipulating you this whole time. I don’t think he can stop.”

Geralt lowered his brows in confusion, “So, it is not as if he treats me like a pawn. He might move me to gain what he wants but he respects me.”

Ciri smiled, “Of course he does, and I think he loves you too. But, Geralt, consider it from his more-paranoid-than-is-healthy viewpoint.”

Ciri managed to get a whole cup of tea to stay down before Geralt spoke again, “He is worried that I don’t really want to stay, but that I am staying and “marrying” him because he has manipulated me into thinking it is what is best for you and the children.”

Ciri tilted her head in a little nod, this time eerily reminding Geralt of his current lover. Geralt snarled and threw himself out of his chair and out her door. Her maid came to clear away his teacup and Ciri shot her a commiserating look, “Parents…” she sighed and the woman tinkled a little laugh.

Geralt stormed his way back to Emhyr’s office but got hung up in a knot of noblemen and merchants who were waiting their turn for an audience. The coterie had always been welcoming to him so he stopped to talk and answer their questions about his hunt. One of them, a particularly earnest second son and scholar asked him about the rumors of how nonhumans were being treated in the north and the recent uptick in scoia'tael attacks in Redania. Geralt’s irritation found a happy outlet in answering that question. Then he caught the chamberlain’s eye and was ushered forward out of the crush into Emhyr’s presence.

There were a few lords and ladies with him and Geralt paid them absolutely no attention. He strode up to Emhyr who stood alone, obviously holding business until Geralt had what he needed. Geralt wound his hand into Emhyr’s thinning hair and pulled him into a kiss. He enjoyed it for a moment before pulling back, looking Emhyr straight in the eyes, and saying quite clearly, “I love you.”

The titters of the nobles were abruptly silenced. Emhyr blinked once and asked slowly, “Was there anything else you required?” Geralt shook his head, “Just thought you needed a reminder.” Emhyr nodded gravely then reached out his hand to cup Geralt’s jaw. He contemplated Geralt’s face for a moment, as if it were a sword on display, then pulled him in for another kiss. Geralt stepped back and away once released and headed for the door. He heard Emhyr acknowledge the interruption and resume business with his usual grace as Geralt left for their private rooms.

Geralt was sprawled across their bed making notes in the margins of his travel journal about the giant fight when Emhyr returned at the end of day. “You missed dinner,” Geralt remarked as he capped his inkwell. “You got ink on the sheets.” Emhyr replied. When Geralt raised an eyebrow at him, Emhyr smiled a little roughly, “Are we not stating obvious facts?”

Geralt smirked, “Sounds like you had a tough rest of the day.” Emhyr shed his robe and crawled atop him. Emhyr’s silk trousers rasped against Geralt tight leathers. “I did and It was your fault.” He looked down imperiously at the witcher. “I believe you should pay for that.” Geralt pulled him down with a wolfish smile.

“Seriously though. A couple kisses and a declaration of love was enough to ruin your day?” Emhyr didn’t answer until he finished tugging Geralt’s trousers off; a task made more difficult with the drying load of semen now coating the inside. He himself was already bare. “It was not that.” Geralt looked up, “Then what? I’ve been here all day.”

Emhyr sat back on his heels and looked at him, “Did you or did you not give a statement regarding your opinion on nonhuman relations in the north?”

Geralt felt a cold chill run down his spine like when a monster was creeping up on him. “Yes,” he answered cautiously.

“The way nonhumans are being treated is disgraceful. I have fought alongside and been friends with elves and dwarves all my life. I am not saying they are perfect, but they have justified complaints for how humans have stolen their lands and wealth, have treated those who try to integrate, and have murdered many innocent of any wrong doing. If there is any justice in the world, we will become a more unified people now that we have a unified country.” Emhyr quoted him perfectly.

Geralt groaned and lay back with his arm thrown over his eyes, “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,”

He curled up around a pillow, hiding his face from Emhyr. “See this is why I stay away from politics. I am no good at it.”

Emhyr eyed his form for a long moment before draping himself around Geralt. He tucked Geralt into his chest, wrapped his arms around him, and very deliberately stuck his nose under Geralt’s ear and breathed in. Geralt relaxed astonishingly quickly. They lay curled together for a long moment before Geralt muttered, “You talked to Ciri.”

Emhyr refused to be sidetracked from his discussion. “You didn’t do as badly as all that. You spoke passionately and from the heart. It has done a lot of good. I wasn’t prepared for it and I am irritable about that. However you are worth it. I expect you will get better at realizing the power your words have from now on.”

Geralt gently rubbed his jaw into Emhyr’s nose, “I will, will I?”

“You have proven very cunning and able to learn. I don’t see why not; especially if it is to protect our family.”

Geralt huffed in false irritation then settled, “So we are still on with the Guardian thing?” He turned to look Emhyr in the eye, “I really do want to do it.”

“So I have gathered.” Geralt smiled at the irritated tone. Emhyr gentled his tone, “I wonder perhaps if you agreed too hastily. By all records, your mentor Vesemir was over one hundred and seventy when he died.”

Geralt nodded, “Probably closer to two hundred.”

“Then is that something you want, to stay here and outlive me, Iren and Iniara, Morvran and Ciri, perhaps even the little one?”

Geralt lay his forehead against Emhyr’s, “It’s a big commitment, but I have thought about it. I want it. I thought that when Ciri went off with you that I would never see her again. I thought I would be alright on my own again.” He licked suddenly dry lips, “I didn’t like it. Not anymore.” 

Emhyr kissed him and it was like dawn breaking after a long night’s hunt; warm relief mixed with utter exhaustion. Talking was apparently quite tiring. Emhyr let him go to sleep after some suggestions on what to say when courtiers asked him about his connections with the scoia'tael terrorist group. Geralt gave that a pass because he did it while sucking him off. Talented man, Emhyr var Emreis.

Three months later, Sir Geralt of Rivia was invested as the Guardian of the Emreis bloodline on the steps of the palace before a cheering crowd. He is the perfect protector for the royal family, one woman told the other. Her companion answered back that she had heard that Sir Geralt is a sham and that his whole fame is a publicity stunt. She was answered with a cold snub and ignored for the rest of the beautiful ceremony. 

The lovely Princess Cirilla, holding carefully to her husband’s hand lest she slip and fall, came forward to pin the crest of House Emreis to Sir Geralt’s brand new doublet. The crowd cheered as the Princess graced her foster father with a kiss to the cheek and Prince Morvran bestowed a hearty handshake on the witcher. At the back of the tableau, Emperor Emreis looked on with Lady Iniara and Young Lord Iren and their Fliran cousins. The woman decided to forgive her friend and remarked that Nilfgaard was truly blessed with such a lovely royal family.

The End

P.S. That new doublet did not last the night.


End file.
